A Place in This World
by SunWillRise2340
Summary: Dancer and savant Lorelai Wilson lost her parents in the 7/7 bombings, and before she has a chance to confront her grief, she is shipped across the pond to live with her aunt, May Hoffman. What happens when she meets school badboy Trace Benedict? **ON HIATUS. WILL BE RE-WRITTEN**
1. Wrickenridge

"Thank you for flying with British Airways," the co-pilot's voice echoes across the intercom. I sigh, and stand up to grab my bag from the rack above me, and joining the queue to exit the plane. Outside, the air is warm and slightly muggy – not so different to how it was in London just over nine and a half hours ago. I'm so relieved to be off the plane though– I absolutely hate sitting still for long periods of time.

I retrieve my bright blue suitcase and black rucksack from the conveyor belt in the Arrivals Hall, and head out into the main terminal. I could seriously do with a coffee right now – or even better, hot chocolate. But no, just as I set my sights longingly on the Costa Coffee across the other side of the terminal, a woman comes up to me. Her hair is long, black, and flecked with white, showing that she's about fifty or sixty. Her skin is a gorgeous chocolate brown colour, and she's sporting absolutely bizarre earrings – big lime-green and orange circles.

"I am assuming you're Lorelai Wilson?" she says briskly.

"Yes," I say hesitantly.

"Good. I thought so – what with that pink hair. I'm your aunt, May Hoffman, but you call me Aunty May. We've an hour and a half back to Wrickenridge; I have food in the car."

Jesus, this woman doesn't seem to need anyone else to participate in her conversations with her. I only really know about her from what my Mum told me – that she was bossy, demanding, and most importantly – not a savant. That kind of sucks, really, because I'm going to have to work hard to conceal my powers. Buuuutttt…oh well, I'm used to hiding them when I'm at dance school.

"Lorelai!" she snaps. "Follow me. I registered you at the local high school – in twelfth grade. It's a good school, but far too lax on the discipline, I must say. Certain students leave a lot to be desired for…"

I zone out as she leads me to a very prim and proper silver hatchback. I dump my bags in the boot, and slide into the passenger seat. Aunty May (I still can't get used to calling her that) hands me a small sandwich. "I expect you to eat a big dinner when we get home – I made casserole. You like casserole, right?"

Um, no, not really. But I'll deal – I can hide food in my room if I need to. But casserole is the least of my worries right now – I'm thinking more about the headache that's starting to throb in the back of my skull. I always get headaches when I'm overtired – and trust me, they are not pretty.

Aunty May finally lets me sleep a little while as we cruise along the motorway, which in America-speak is called the I-70. Stands for Interstate-70 which sounds weird to me, but oh well. I dream about dancing, paw-print shaped snowflakes, which is random, but it's a nice and welcome change from my old nightmare. Just as I'm getting into watching the snowflakes, Aunty May wakes me up. Damn, I was really enjoying that.

I lug all my luggage into her house to find, to my horror that her house is one of those completely neat ones, you know – nothing out of order, everything having it's place and so on. "Your room is up here, Lorelai," she says. "I'll let you unpack whilst I heat the casserole."

Then she leaves. Finally. I look around the room, sinking slowly onto the bed. It's a pretty room – there's no doubt about it – but it smells like old lady perfume. I sigh, and fling open the window (oh goody, I've got a windowseat. I have a small obsession with window-seats.) to disperse the smell, along with spraying a couple of squirts of my perfume – Princess by Vera Wang. I love the smell of it – it's comforting, and reminds me of home.

I dump my suitcase on my bed, and start putting away my clothes into the rickety wardrobe. When I've finished that, I put my meagre collection of books onto one of the bookshelves, my IPod, speakers and IPad on the desk, and my make-up collection in my bedside drawer. There. Done. Unpacked. I sit on the bed again, and wonder if I can move it so I have dancing space. It's either that, or dance in the garden – but that would completely ruin my pointe shoes. Well, maybe the school will have a studio. I really hope so.

I stand up again (I'm very energised at the moment, it's strange) and walk to the mirror, looking at the girl reflected there. My long white-gold hair with its dark gold highlights and raspberry pink ends waves gently down my back, and my green eyes are bright – which is strange, considering I've spent most of the day travelling. I sigh again, and, using the telekinesis, which is part of my powers, summon my make-up bag to start putting myself together again.

You know, I guess I really should explain my situation here. I'm a savant – it basically means I have powers. I know it sounds like something out of a teenage fantasy novel, but it's true. Every savant is different and unique, just like every person is different and unique. My powers include telekinesis and telepathy, which most savants can do, but my main two powers are being able to tell the truth from a lie, and the ability to manipulate emotions. Most of the time, I use the second one to help people calm down, or to cheer them up. I'm not bad, trust me.

A shout brings me back to earth. "Lorelai! Dinner is almost ready!"

I sigh, and head down the stairs, tossing my hair over one shoulder. "Lay the table, please," Aunty May orders. I get out the cutlery from where she's pointing and lay the table. To say it's an uncomfortable meal is a huge understatement – Aunty May grills me about life in London, and makes a couple of disparaging comments about my mother, which gets my back up. I loved my mother, and she has no right to comment on the way I was brought up.

I escape up to my room as soon as I can – putting on my favourite song – All About Tonight by Pixie Lott and starting to dance, letting my worries dissipate. Not halfway through the song, I'm interrupted by Aunty May slamming open my door. "Would you turn down the music?"

"I can't hear it if I turn it down!" I argue.

"And your leaping about is shaking the house," Aunty May snaps. When she takes in my stony face, her expression softens. "Wait until school tomorrow – they have a dance studio."

"Okay," I say, making my irritation clear. "I'll turn in early. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she says, closing the door.


	2. At school

I choose my outfit carefully in the morning – a pair of frayed jean shorts and my favourite Pineapple Dance top – which is basically a black racer-back tank top with a crop top saying 'Pineapple Dance' over the top. Might as well make an impression. I opt for silver sparkly eyeliner and pink lip-gloss – before sliding on my dance trainers and heading down the stairs. Breakfast is a silent affair – as Aunty May is still a little perturbed over my show of temper last night.

After breakfast, I make sure I have my IPod and my Beats headphones, along with a pad of paper and a couple of pens in my bag – an awesome find from a little vintage shop in London – and head out of the door. Apparently it's a short walk to the school, which is nice on such a lovely morning as this. I get there and head to the office to enrol.

"Hello, I'm Lorelai Wilson," I tell the receptionist, who's wearing a pink jumper.

"Ah, yes," he smiles. "The new girl from England."

"That's me," I smile.

"I'm Mr Joe, and I'm new too! We have a welcome pack for you," he says, handing over the pile of papers. I look at my swipe card, laughing when I see the photo. It's my old passport one, when I'd just had my hair dyed and my third ear piercing. I look very pleased with myself.

Then, he spends the next few minutes explaining about classes. Finally, he stops the monologue and glances at his watch. "You're missed registration. I'll take you to your first class, which is sport. I think you girls are starting off with cheerleading."

Ah, damn it. I don't have a sports kit, but if I can dance in clothes - I can probably cheerlead in them. I've never actually had much patience for cheerleading, but I might as well give it a try.

Mr Joe takes me along corridors and out into a separate sports hall, where I can see a couple of girls milling around and a middle-aged woman with black hair fiddling with an IPod. "Have fun," he says cheerily, walking back the way we came. Traitor.

I sigh, smooth back my hair into a ponytail and open the door, heading over to the woman, who I presume is the teacher. "Excuse me," I say. She looks up. "I'm new."

"Oh, hello. I'm Mrs. Bennet, the sports teacher for you girls. What's your name?" she picks up a book. She seems very nice – well compared to the psychos at my old school. (Seriously, my old ballet teacher hit us with a wooden spoon if we didn't turn out, or point hard enough. Mrs. Bennet seems like an angel in comparison with her.)

"I'm Lorelai Wilson," I say.

"What sports did you do at your old school, Lorelai?" she asks, jotting my name at the bottom of her list.

"Uh…it was a dance college – I'm a dancer," I explain.

"A dancer!" Mrs. Bennet's eyes light up. "Would you care to give us a little demonstration?" she asks eagerly.

"Sure," I say hesitantly.

"Okay, just wait by me. I'll call roll."

I dump my bag, and pull out my IPod, scrolling through my songs to look for one that I can dance to. I settle for On the Floor by Jennifer Lopez feat Pitbull, because it was the last routine I learnt before I left dance school. Mrs. Bennet finishes registering the girls, and nods for me to step forward. "Girls!" she says cheerfully. "We have a new student – this is Lorelai Wilson. Do you want to introduce yourself, Lorelai?"

"Okay," I say. I hear a couple of sniggers from the group of girls, and I toss my head up. "Hi, I'm Lorelai, and I'm from a dance college in London."

"She has very kindly said that she'll give us a demonstration," Mrs. Bennet interjects. "How do you need the space?"

"Um…could you line the walls," I ask, mentally calculating how much space I'll need – this routine involves a couple of exciting and big tumbles. I hand my IPod to Mrs. Bennet, and go to stand in the middle of the space, waiting for the music to start.

As soon as the introduction starts, I forget that I'm surrounded by people. I forget everything but the dance – moving fluently through the routine, letting the beat carry me forward. The end of the music finds me in my finishing position – on the floor in the splits. There is dead silence for a second, then the girls start to cheer and clap.

I get up, and bow, before going to stand by myself against the wall. "That was fantastic Lorelai!" Mrs. Bennet enthuses. "Now, we'd better get on with what we're meant to be doing. Get into lines, girls."

I join the back row next to a tall girl with perfect tanned skin and copper waves of hair. "You're amazing!" she grins prettily.

"Thank-you!" I say.

"I'm Dakota," she smiles.

"Lorelai," I say.

"I know," she says, turning her attention to the front where 'When I Grow Up' by the Pussycat Dolls is blaring out of the speakers. By the end of the session I decide I quite like cheerleading.

The next class is Trigonometry, which I have with Dakota. On the way there, she introduces her little gaggle of friends to me – Haylee, Leah and Sarina. Haylee is Barbie perfect – perfect size, perfect figure, perfect hair, perfect skin, and so on. That means I would hate her – if she wasn't so nice. Leah is a little bit stuck-up, but she's nice enough – babbling on about my dancing. And Sarina – Sarina is just mental – proper mental. When Dakota introduced her to me, she stuck out her hand, and said, very seriously, "What's the best way to sacrifice goats?"

I just keeled over laughing. Now, in Trigonometry, which I've decided is really boring, Sarina is writing bizarre notes to me, and I'm having to hide my face to keep my laughter silent. Then, just then, the teacher, Mr Montery, decides to ask me a question. "And so, what is _a_, Miss Wilson?"

"Uh…" I look at the total gibberish on the board. "I'm sorry sir, I don't know."

Okay, another mini confession. I don't know anything about Trigonometry. We did do some normal lessons at dance school, but just as we were about to start Trigonometry, I got the call. To say that my parents….my parents…never mind. You don't need to know. The long and short of it is that I get a mini telling off for not paying attention.

Lunch is also interesting – my new friends – I've decided they're my friends, by the way, drag me through the lunch queue, and instead of going to sit down at a table to join Leah and Sarina, we head out into the parking lot. I also notice that Haylee and Dakota are carrying two sets of lunch. Odd. Then I notice where we're heading.

Okay – let me just set the scene. There's me, Haylee and Dakota carrying our lunch (and their extra, as it seems). Leah has gone off to a music practice. Sarina has disappeared with her equally crazy boyfriend, Blake – well, that's what the others have told me. So, we're walking across the car park to a group of boys, leaning against motor-cycles. Two of them seem to be having a heated debate, and the others are watching, laughing. I drag my feet as Haylee and Dakota approach them – Haylee goes straight over to the sandy-haired one, handing him the food, and perching on his bike. Dakota thrusts her food at a guy with black hair before sitting down on the ground. The other guys stop arguing, and grab their own food, resuming the intimidating 'leaning against the bikes' stance. "Guys, this is Lorelai Wilson," Dakota announces. "She's new. Lorelai, this is my twin brother, Jake Thompson, and his friends, Brett Keely, Oscar James and Trace Benedict."

I look up to see the last guy she pointed out looking at me. His eyes are covered by sunglasses, and his messy brown hair flops over his face – he's pretty fit, I'll admit. Definitely fitter than the guys at dance college. I wonder what colour his eyes are?

My reverie is interrupted by a smacking sound, and my head jerks up to where Dakota is standing, hands on hips. Her brother has a hand to his cheek. "Jesus, Dakota! What was that for?"

"You insulted my friend!" she says, tossing her hair back.

"I did not! I said she was fit – that's a compliment, isn't it? Calm down woman!" he says angrily.

"Okay…I forgive you!" Dakota chirps sitting down again. "Hey, Lo, can you pull out more of your moves?"

"Okay," I say, shyly. "Want to pick a song?"

"Yeah!" she squeals. Haylee (who for the past few minutes has been kissing the one called Brett) pulls away.

"Eardrums, Dakota!" she says. I giggle as I toss my IPod over to Dakota, and go to stand in the middle of the car park. She picks All About Tonight – again – which is cool. I fling myself into a backwards no-handed flip, and start to go through the routine that I started last night. At the end, the biker boys (my new nickname for them) are silent. Jesus, I seem to be having that effect on people at the moment.

"A fit chick who can move it!" Jake finally crows, and the rest of the guys break down into laughter. I join in, going back over to join them – I'm pleased I've found somewhere to fit in.


	3. Wait you're my soulfinder

**A/N **_Okay, guys, this is funny, and I hope you like it...did you guys think Lorelai was sane? Because if you did you're about to proved wrong! :)_

The afternoon isn't too bad; I have Advanced Placement Chemistry, which is really fun – I quite like science, and the teacher, Mrs. Morgan is really nice. After that I have Film and Lit, which is okay, I guess – I'm not good at writing. It's quite a nice day, but I'm tired by the end of it. I'm used to exercising my body, and not my mind at school, so this is quite a change. In the car-park at the end of the day, I exchange numbers with Haylee, Dakota, Sarina and Leah, before I leave.

I walk through the gates, feeling free and happy – just for the sake of it, I do a large split leap and pirouette and run all the way home.

**TRACE'S POV**

I ride the motorbike home, swerving dangerously up the steep mountain road to get to the house that I've called home for the past five years. I park the bike, in the shed, and head into the house, knowing full well that it'll only be Mom, Dad and my three youngest brothers in the house as the others have to walk home. Mom ambushes me the minute I step through the door. I sigh as she badgers me with questions.

"Hello, darling, how was the first day of senior year? I hope you haven't got yourself into trouble again!"

"No, I haven't," I say patiently. I don't usually try to get in trouble, unlike my youngest brother, Zed, who's ten and tries his hardest to push his teacher's buttons at school. It's just sometimes I say the wrong thing, and get put in detention for it. It's the teacher's fault for blowing up, anyway. I grab the orange juice and pour myself a glass. My power tells me that all three of my younger brothers have touched the carton today. Okay…I'll explain. I'm a savant. My whole family is - none of us really had a chance what with Mom and Dad both being savants. My power is to see where an object or person has been, and who has touched it. Can be a bit of a pain at times.

"How was your day?" Mom repeats, just as I hear footsteps slamming down the stairs. Zed appears.

"Trace met a girl today," he announces, floating my orange juice out of my hand. (Zed can see glimpses of the future.)

"Oi! Give that back!" I use my own telekinesis to snag the glass back. I drain it in one.

"Did you?" Mom pressed.

"Yeah. She's new – called Lorelai Wilson. She's made friends with Dakota." Seeing the confused look on Mom's face, I explain "Jake's twin sister." Actually…I noticed something about her – well apart from the fact she's gorgeous and the way she dances is incredible. For some reason, I feel drawn to her…_stop thinking about that Trace_, I remind myself. _You have to wait for your soulfinder – and she'll be better than Lorelai Wilson. _

"Trace!" my twelve-year-old brother, Xav appears. "Can I have a go on your bike? You promised."

"Okay," I say, dumping my glass in the sink.

**LORELAI'S POV**

The minute I get back to Aunty May's, the Spanish Inquisition starts. She sits me down, and makes me work through my day. Oh well, at least I get a drink. When she asks about my friends, I say,

"Oh, I hung out with some girls. They were really nice – at lunchtime we ate with Dakota's brother, Jake and his friends."

"You mean Jake Thompson?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. I think that was his surname.

"Young lady, I do not approve of him and his friends. I do not think you should be seen in their company."

"Aunty May," I say in a soothing tone, trying to channel my power into calming her down. "I'm sure I'll make more friends, but you'd like Dakota. She's funny and sweet."

It works. "Alright. I'll make dinner – is pasta okay?"

"Sure," I say. "I didn't get any prep, so can I go out and dance?"

She grunts, so I grab my Beats and IPod and head outside to start working on a new dance routine.

"Lorelai, can you go to the shop?" Aunty May asks me the next day after school. "I have a list."

"Sure," I say, taking the proffered slip of paper. I slide on my dance trainers, and head out of the door, step-ball-changing along the street like the person I am. I get to the shop without making a fool of myself, or breaking anything, which is good, and head inside. I collect a basket from the pile, and twirl down the aisles, looking for the things on my list. Just as I reach the last aisle, I manage to pirouette into something, well, someone really, who catches me.

"Steady on, Lorelai," it's Trace, Dakota's brother's friend from school whom I'm rather….attracted to…_Don't think about it, Lorelai._

"Oh, sorry," I apologise, feeling my cheeks grow warm. I really wish I could use my power on myself – it would certainly make me feel more relaxed in situations like this. "I don't exactly look where I'm going."

"I can tell," he says wryly. "Just make sure you don't bump into any old ladies."

"I won't," I smile. Okay, under pressure, I tend to spew random facts. Just warning. "Did you know a pregnant goldfish is called a twit?"

He looks at me weirdly, before starting to laugh. "You crazy girl!" he chuckles. "Where did you find that one?"

"I look at random facts sites on my IPad," I say seriously. "They're funny."

_Hey, weirdo! _Hey, who said that? Do I have a little voice inside my head?

_No, you're a weirdo! _Okay, I refuse to have voices. I'm not a madwoman.

_Well, if you weren't mad, you'd not be having conversations with yourself, _the first voice retaliates.

_I am mad, I thought you knew that frogspawn._

_Okay, you guys, stop fighting. _Whoa, when did I get a third voice?

_No! Fighting's fun! _Oookay, I need to distract myself before the voices in my head cause world destruction.

"Aaahh it's raining skittles!" I yell. Then I realise I've just screamed a totally crazy thing in front of an extremely fit guy I might like. _When did he become extremely fit? Now, I guess! _Shut up little voice.

Trace waves a hand in front of my face. "Lorelai, are you sure you're okay?"

"I had to stop the voices in my head." I say. If he thought I was normal before he's certainly got it wrong.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow," he says.

"Okay, fishcake!" I chirp, hopping off to find the last item on my list. _Great way to make an awesome impression, Lorelai._

My first weekend in Wrickenridge is quiet. Dakota and Jake are out of town, Haylee is hanging out with Brett, and it turns out Sarina is grounded, because she said something inappropriate. That makes me laugh – almost everything she says is inappropriate. Leah is also away – shopping with her older sister Gianna. So, Aunty May decides that I should explore the town. I take my IPod, and head around the town. It would look so much better if I had a dog, but oh well.

About half an hour into my walk, I spot a sign saying 'Viewpoint – Ghost Town.' Well, that sounds interesting. A ghost town – I want to meet ghosts! It would be absolutely awesome, and I could go all 'ooohhh' and 'aaaahhh' on them, and try and scare them!…okay, forgetting my strange reaction to the word 'ghost,' I walk up there, and find a small, abandoned shanty township. I read the plaque, then go and stand on the edge of the viewpoint, looking out at the amazing scenery.

Out of nowhere, a wave of sadness hits me. My parents would have loved it here. I miss them so much – I wish they could be with me right now. Tears well up, clouding my vision – if I'm going to cry, I might as well do it here. I slowly sink into a crouch, and let myself cry, sobbing like a baby into the sleeves of my hoodie.

All of a sudden a hand comes down on my shoulder. I shriek and jump, trying to wipe away the tears as I turn around. It's Trace Benedict again (I swear we meet in the weirdest places) – his brown eyes looking at me in concern. "Hey, Lorelai? Are you alright?"

"What does it look like?" I snap. He looks slightly worried and nervous, (seeing as he's seen my crazy side, and my shy side, but not the totally depressed side), but puts his arms awkwardly around me, stroking my hair. The unexpected kindness makes me cry harder. "I miss them so much," I cry into his sweater.

"Who?" he asks gently.

"Mummy and Daddy," I sniffle.

"What happened?" he asks. No one's ever shown this much understanding since that awful day.

"You know the 7/7 bombings, in London?" I ask, keeping my face hidden in his shoulder.

"Yes…" he says. I can tell that he's starting to figure out what happened.

"I was in Maths class, and the school got called…they were running late, and got a different tube to the school where they both worked…"

"Oh…I'm so sorry, Lorelai…" he says sympathetically. I pull away, wiping away the remnants of tears. "It's okay to cry," he looks at me. When I meet his steady, brown gaze, a feeling hits me in the stomach. I…wait…

_Thanks _I send telepathically to him. His eyes widen and he, automatically, it seems, takes my hands.

_Speak to me again. _Oh my god. It feels…oh…he's completely lit me up…

_You're my…_ I start.

_Soulfinder…_he finishes, a beam starting to spread across his face. Being the person I am, I fling my arms around his neck. He staggers backwards slightly, before hugging me to him.

"I've found you!" his voice is so happy.

"I've found you!" I repeat. Another explanation is due, I believe. When a savant is born, his or her partner arrives on earth within a few days. Savants are only really complete with their soulfinders. And here is mine, hugging me close. Trace Benedict, from Wrickenridge, Colorado. Soulfinder.


	4. Getting to Know each other

**A/N** _This was my favourite to write, and it's dedicated to my fellow author and one of my best friends, VivaLaVida1704. I couldn't do without her story advice!_

After this amazing revelation, neither Trace or I really want to leave each other. That figures, really, because what idiot discovers their soulfinder and then skips off all ladidadida and leaves the poor guy standing there like a moose? I find a cute and convenient little bench by one of the old shacks, and sit on it, leaving space for Trace to sit down beside me. Hahaha, that rhymes!

"So…" I say.

"You've cheered up," he smiles down at me.

"Crying normally makes me feel better," I say. "And finding you has lit up my day." His look becomes pleased as he looks away over the view. I decide to initiate conversation. Whoa, that sounded like something out of a sci-fi novel.

"What?" Trace asks, giving me a funny look.

"Uh…forgot to shield, sorry," I blush. Then I figure that I might as well explain. "I seriously doubt the things that go through my head," I tell him. "I'm really sorry if you see what I'm thinking and it's strange or inappropriate."

"That's interesting." He sounds very slightly worried. He's probably just figured out that his soulfinder is a little bit mad…oh well! Hooray for madness! Like the Madness hamsters….

"Lorelai, you're doing it again," he seems to be stifling laughter.

"I'm going to change the subject, because at the moment there is a high risk that I'm going to embarrass myself," I say. "Tell me about you! I don't know anything about you, and we're like, in a cosmic arranged marriage…ohh like aliens! Aliens have cosmic arranged marriages and then…"

Trace clamps his hand over my mouth, effectively shutting me up. "Sorry," I mumble. "Word-vomiting is also another of my annoying tendencies."

"How come you're all shy at school though?" he asks.

"I'm new!" I protest. "I have to be shy for people to like me – otherwise they'll think I'm mad!"

"Lo, you are mad," he says matter-of-factly. "But back to your question…what do you want to know about me?"

I hold out my hand, ticking things off on my fingers. "Family, interests, personal statistics, oh god, I sound like a stalker."

"It's okay," he says. "Uh, family first. I'm the eldest of seven – we're all a year apart."

"Jesus!" I interrupt. "Your poor mum."

"My mom gets waited on hand and foot in our family," Trace says.

"I didn't mean that, but oh well. Continue," I say.

"My Mom is called Karla, and my Dad is Saul. My brothers, in order go me, Uriel, Victor, Will, Xavier, Yves and Zed. And yes, Mom and Dad had an alphabetical thing going on with us, and no, I don't know why they started at T."

"We should so do that with our kids," I say before I can stop myself. Then my cheeks flame and I bury my face in his shoulder. "Kill me now, would you?" I groan.

Trace is too busy laughing to answer. Evil traitor… Finally he pulls himself together, and puts an arm around my shoulders. "I'm getting used to it now," he says. "Interests – I like motorbikes, but I think you may have already figured that one out. I think I want to train as a cop when I graduate; with my power, it's either that or an archaeologist, which I'm not interested in." Anticipating my interruption, he says, "I can tell where something or someone has been by touching them or it. Like right now, I know you've touched tarmac, and dirt and a bottle of what I think is perfume."

"That is so cool, and you're totally right!" I say. "I touched my perfume bottle, the road when I was doing a handstand, and the dirt when I was over there crying."

"Why thank you," he says, smiling again. "Um, other interests – unlike the rest of my family, I'm awful at music, but I like sport…I guess I'm just a stereotypical teenage guy, apart from the savant powers."

"But you're not stereotypical to me," I smile.

"You?" Trace asks.

"Um, you know I love dancing, and I dance as much as I can. I also incorporate the various stunts I can do into my dancing, like flips and split leaps and things like that. I'm staying with Aunty May, who you know as Mrs. Hoffman. I love love love homemade cookies because they're yummy. Mwam mwam. I also do experimental cooking, which often goes wrong – it's really funny. And…"

"Your power?"

"Oh, yeah, my power – I have two – I can tell if someone's lying, and I can manipulate emotions."

"I'll have to watch my step around you," he says, glancing at his watch. "I've really got to be getting back now – Mom needs me to take Zed to his soccer practice this afternoon."

"Oh, okay," I say. Then I pull a cheesy grin. "See, I've just proved I can be sensible sometimes."

"You can," he smiles. "I'll walk you back down into town."

He gets up, and takes my hand, and we wander back down to the town. I stay silent, just liking the feel of his hand around mine. Soulfinder. I could seriously get used to this. At the bottom of the hill, Trace turns to me.

"Lo, d'you mind if I tell my family, you know, about us? Because the longer we leave it, the more unbearable my Mom will be."

"Do what you need to," I tell him seriously. "Obviously, I can't tell Aunty May, because she'd be like 'oh no, you can't date him, you'll just get yourself in trouble young lady' and that wouldn't be good."

"No it wouldn't," he agrees. He leans forward and kisses my cheek. "See you soon, Lo."

"Bye," I smile, touching my cheek where he kissed it and smiling after him. Happy, I run back home.

**TRACE'S POV**

I actually cannot believe that I've found her. My soulfinder – Lorelai Wilson, the new girl from England. To think that she's my soulfinder – I swear, I'm probably the happiest guy in the world right now. I walk back up to the house, thinking about her. I know that sounds sappy, but I'm already half in love with her, and I've known her all of six days. Crazy.

Outside the front door, I steel myself for my Mom's reaction – knowing it will be explosive. I take a deep breath, and let myself into the house, pushing open the door, and walking into the kitchen. Luckily, it's only Mom and Zed in the kitchen.

"Hello, darling," Mom says.

"Hey, Mom." Might as well bite the bullet. "I've got news for you."

"Good, I hope," Mom asks, turning back to the stove where soup is bubbling away.

I glance over at Zed who's buried in his soccer magazine, and look back at Mom. "I found her."

Her eyes widen, and in one motion, she's flung her arms around me. "Oh my darling boy, that is the best news I've ever had! Oh, you're all grown up now! What's her name? What's she like?"

"Mom, you're choking me!" I say. She steps back, a huge beam on her face.

Zed looks up, completely bewildered to our mother's outburst. "Trace, what happened?" he asks, munching on his sandwich.

"I found my soulfinder," I smile.

"Congrats," he seems completely unbothered by it. But, I should really cut him some slack. He's only ten years old – he's not even interested in girls yet.

"What's her name?" Mom repeats her earlier question.

"It's Lorelai. Lorelai Wilson, you remember? The new girl I told you about."

"Oh, that's adorable!" Mom coos. "Oh!" she runs to the bottom of the stairs, and calls up, "SAUL! BOYS! TRACE HAS NEWS FOR YOU!"

I sigh as I hear my Dad clatter down the stairs, followed by my other brothers – eleven year old Yves, twelve year old Xav, thirteen year old Will, fourteen year old Victor and sixteen year old Uriel.

"What's happened?" Xav asks. "Have you killed someone?"

I swat him around the head, but he ducks out of the way, laughing. "I found my soulfinder," I announce. Immediately, my family crowd around me, hugging me and congratulating me. Most of my brothers are too young to be thinking about soulfinders, and Uriel, the only one who's well, old enough to start thinking about that, is not even bothered by the whole 'finding my soulfinder' thing.

"That's cool, Trace," Yves says.

"Thanks, man," I say.

"Details, bro," Will says. "Is she fit?"

"Will, you're thirteen!" Mom says half-heartedly.

"Very," I smile. "You'll all like her."


	5. Cookies

**A/N I really enjoyed writing this chapter...enjoy!**

"Hmmhmm, she went down in an airplane, fried getting suntanned, fell in a cement mixer full of quicksand, help me, help me, I'm no good at goodbyes!" I warble along with the radio as I chop up chocolate. I love this song – it's nuts.

"She met a shark under water, fell and no-one caught her, I returned everything I ever bought her, help me, help me, I'm all out of lies! And ways to say you died."

I pop a piece of chocolate in my mouth. Yum. Wait…that wasn't a very good idea…unless I want Aunty May to come back to find the house in ruins…see, chocolate has this effect on me – just one piece and I go crazy hyper. Oh well, I'll just go outside and dance it off when I've finished making my giant cookie. Yes, I'm making a giant cookie, and eating lots of the cookie dough, because it's yummy. No, Aunty May isn't home – there is no way in hell she'd let me near her precious kitchen if she were.

I add the Smarties, Milky Way, milk chocolate, dark chocolate and white chocolate to the mix, put it on a big tray and pat it down, shoving it in the oven. Now I have to wait…well about twelve minutes, I think…I'm not sure though…oh well! I'm just going to have to hang around a bit! Just as I sit down to finish off my homework (see, I'm good! I'm doing my work!) Trace's voice says _Hi!_ in my head. I practically drop the book I'm reading.

_Jesus, don't scare me like that! _I complain. I swear I can hear him laughing from wherever he is.

_Open the door! I've been waiting here for five minutes! _He says. I blush – he probably heard my awful singing.

_Coming, coming! _I say, getting up, and padding into the front hall. I open the door to find him standing there, his motorbike parked in front of my house. I feel really happy, seeing him stood there like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I am so sorry," I say. "I was making cookies…"

"And singing really badly!" Trace laughs, stepping over the doorstep.

"I do not sing badly!" I complain, hitting him gently in the stomach. "I was just getting into it, that's all."

"My brother Zed likes that song – he thinks it's funny," Trace says, following me into the kitchen.

"I'll have you know that I think it's great!" I say. "Oh, shit," I grab the oven gloves, and pull my cookie out of the oven.

"What did you do?" Trace asks in mock horror.

"I made a giant cookie," I say seriously, putting it on the cooling rack, then doing my best impression of an evil cackle, rubbing my hands together. "It has dark, milk and white chocolate in it, and Milky Way bar and Smarties."

"Dear Lord," Trace rolls his eyes. "You're gonna explode if you eat any of that."

"I know," I giggle immaturely. "That was the whole point of making it, silly. You can help me eat it if you like?"

"Okay…I was actually wondering if you wanted to come for a ride with me? On the bike."

"Okey doke. I'll put the cookie in a tin, then we can take it with us," I say.

"Good idea," he says.

"YUM! I WANT TO EAT YOU!" I tell the cookie in a loud voice.

"Lo…" Trace puts his hand to my head as though I might have a temperature. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"Mighty fine and dandy," I say, getting out a knife. "I'm coming to get you Mister Cookie!"

"Lorelai!" Trace sounds worried now. "Step away from the knife!"

I pout. "I'm friends with Mister Knife."

"Step away from the knife," he repeats.

I let the knife drop to the table with a clatter. Trace picks it up, and cuts the cookie up, finding a tin and putting the bits of gooey and yummy cookie into it. I start to jump up and down. "Can we go on the bike now?"

"Yes, come on." Trace still sounds worried – I'm not sure he knew what he'd let himself in for when he came to see me.

I sit behind him on the bike, holding onto his waist as we ride up into the mountains. After about ten minutes, Trace stops the bike, and we walk for a way into the woods, holding hands. "This is one of my favourite places," Trace tells me unexpectedly.

"It's pretty," I say. The ride calmed me down – thankfully I'm not so hyper anymore, that would be awkward. We walk along in companionable silence for a little while, then settle in this awesome hollow tree that's ginormous and has a ready made seat and everything. I get out the cookie, handing a bit to Trace.

"This is one of my experiments," I tell him. "I'm not sure if it worked, or not."

I take a piece, and bite into it. "Yummy yummy yummy in my tummy," I say, shoving the rest of the piece into my mouth. "I'm not going to be hyper, I promise," I tell Trace, who's eating his own bit of cookie. "I got it out of my system earlier."

"It's alright…I'm kind of getting used to you being hyper," Trace says, putting his arm around my shoulders. I lean my head against his chest. "I think that air does to you what alcohol does to the rest of the world."

"Probably," I say. "Just as a general rule, chocolate is never a good idea, though, and sleep deprivation makes me go loopy, like I was earlier."

"Why are you sleep-deprived?" he asks gently.

"Nightmares," I say. "Every night. Since…you know…"

"Go to sleep now, if you want," he says. "I'll make sure the nightmares don't get you."

"Nightmares don't get me?" I ask, puzzled.

"Yeah," I feel him kiss the top of my head. "Like in the BFG – that kids book."

"I liked that book when I was small," I murmur, shutting my eyes.

A bird starts to sing high above our heads. The air up here is chilly, but in the circle of Trace's arms, I'm warm and comfortable. After a while of just sitting with each other, I start to fall asleep like he said, letting the feeling of safety and warmth lull me into dreamland.

I stretch, and yawn. I vaguely hear Trace say, "Thanks, Will."

My eyes flutter open – it's getting dark. How long have I been out? Trace's arms are still wrapped around me, holding me close to him. "Hello, sleepyhead," he hums. "How was your nap?"

"Good," I stretch. Then I notice the boy hovering just outside our little shelter. "Trace…there's someone watching us…"

He laughs. "It's okay, babe, that's my brother, Will. Mom sent him out with food for us."

"Hi, Will!" I wave. He comes closer.

"Hi," he says, shooting Trace a look. I feel Trace chuckle.

"Yes, Will, this is Lorelai."

"Nice to meet you," Will says, sitting down opposite us.

"Do you want some cookie?" I ask, proffering the tin.

"Oh, thank you," Will says, taking a piece. "This is yummy."

"I'm glad," I say. I see Will's face crease into a frown. "Wait, what's wrong?"

"Uh…you said…" he looks at Trace, who starts to laugh.

"You said what?" I turn around to look at him.

"I just warned him that you were a little hyper…" Trace says.

"I'm still waking up," I say. "What time is it?"

"Uh…damn," Trace swears. "Your aunt is going to be going out of her mind with worry!"

"Oh yeah…" I say, blushing. "I told her I'd be staying in…" I slowly get to my feet, taking the cookie tin.

"See you around, Will," I say, running a hand through my hair.

"See you Lorelai," he says, getting up and walking back into the trees. Trace leads me back to the bike, and gets on. We roar down the mountainside, back into Wrickenridge, slowing down as we approach my house. Trace parks the bike, and takes my hand.

"I can go from here to my house on my own," I say.

"Okay…" he says. He kisses my cheek again. "I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Okey dokey lemon cokey!" I chirp randomly. "I'll see you then, too."

I cross the street, hearing Trace's bike start up again, and let myself into the house. Immediately, I'm pounced on by Aunty May. "Where have you been young lady?" she snaps.

"Uh…out…on my friend's bike…"

"You've been gone hours! I was about to phone the police! Have you any idea how worried I was? Who were you with?"

"I'm sorry," I say, lowering my eye-line. "I kind of fell asleep, and lost track of the time."

"Who were you with?" she repeats.

I gulp – I was really hoping to avoid this. "Uh…Trace. Trace Benedict."

"Alone?" she screeches.

"Uh yes…nothing happened Aunty May, I promise you!" I say.

"That boy is trouble! I want you staying away from him!"

"That's not fair!" I flare up. "You don't know him! He's a perfect gentleman."

"Who rides around on a motorbike," she snorts.

"Yes," I say, tossing my hair. "What is wrong with motorbikes?"

"You're grounded." She says sharply. "For two weeks!"

"That is not fair!" I yell. "Why? Just because I went out with a friend?"

"An unsuitable friend. Now go up to your room and stay there."

"Fine." I huff, turning around and storming up the stairs. Evil, horrid woman. I hate her. What is wrong with me seeing Trace? He's my soulfinder, for God's sake…but I can't tell her that! Urrghh!

I flop down on my bed, fuming, and lie there for a while.

_Babe, are you alright?_ Trace's voice again.

_Aunty May blew up. I'm grounded. _I reply miserably.

_How long? _He wants to know.

_Two weeks. At least we'll see each other at school._

_Yeah…that sucks…I was going to show you another favourite place…oh well, it'll wait. _

_Okay. Nanight._ I say.

_Nanight. Sweet dreams._


	6. Spoons

**A/N I am so, so, so, so, sorry this took me so long to update - school and whatnot, and I promise I'll try be better! Love you all lots! xxx**

"It's okay," Trace says quietly as he opens the door to his house. "They won't eat you."

"I hope so," I give him a nervous smile, tossing my hair over one shoulder. "Coz cannibalism's bad, you know that?"

He chuckles. "I'm pretty sure my family aren't cannibals."

"I wasn't saying that. I was responding to your comment about them not eating me." I say seriously. "You were the one who said you're family weren't cannibals."

"You make no sense sometimes," he says, sliding an arm around my waist. "Come on, my mom's been waiting ages to meet you. Every day it's 'Trace, you need to bring your girl home to meet us,' or 'Trace, why haven't we met Lorelai yet?'" he does an uncanny impression of a woman's voice.

"Well, we'd better not keep her waiting then," I say as we walk through into a sunny kitchen. A youngish boy – about ten years old – is sitting at the table, scowling at a reading book.

"Hey, Zed," Trace says. "Where's Mom?"

"Upstairs, yelling at Vick because he's not tidied his room. Again." The boy, Zed, says. Then he sees me. I grin shyly – I mean, I wouldn't want to give the poor kid the impression that I'm mental, wouldn't I?

"You're Lorelai," he says, staring at me with his blue-green eyes.

"Wow, ten points to Zed! He guesses who I've brought home with me!" Trace says with fake enthusiasm, which makes me start to giggle. Zed glowers at his brother, his cheeks bright red.

"You are so embarrassing, Trace. Piss off and let me do this stupid reading!"

A woman's voice echoes down the stairs. "Zed, watch your language!"

Zed goes even redder as a small, plump woman appears in the doorway. Her long dark hair is held back in a headscarf and her dark eyes dance and sparkle. "Oh my darlings!" she coos, rushing into the kitchen, and giving me a huge hug even though I'm at least a head taller than she is.

"Mom, calm down," Trace sighs, shooting me an apologetic look. I mouth 'it's okay' as she lets me go, holding me at arms length to scrutinise me closely.

"Lorelai, you are a beautiful young lady," she declares, letting me go and giving her son a hug. "As beautiful as I thought you'd be."

I blush. "Thank you," I stammer. "You're too kind."

"I'm Karla," she continues. "Sit down, sit down. Would you like a drink?"

"Water please," I say as Trace perches on the window seat and holds out his arms. I walk quickly past his mum and perch on his lap, feeling his arms loop around my waist and him sigh as he rests his head on my back.

"Here we go," she levitates it over to me, and then turns to her youngest son. "Zed, I think that's enough reading for today. Go and get your brothers and your father."

"Yes, Mom," Zed rolls his eyes, slamming the book shut and disappearing through the door that Karla came in through. I hear him thudding up the stairs, then a moment of silence, then a load of pairs of feet thundering down. _Oh shit…_

**Trace's POV **

"Trace, that spoon has feelings!" Lorelai cries as I levitate a spoon roughly into a drawer. I roll my eyes, and turn to face her.

"Lorelai, it's an inanimate object. It doesn't have feelings."

She folds her arms and pouts at me. "Bob does have feelings, thank you very much. I thought you knew that!"

I splutter. "You named the spoon?"

"I named all the household appliances," she says with a cheeky grin. "They're my family." I stare at her, and she blushes, looking down. God, she's beautiful. I take a couple of steps forward with a vague intention to kiss her – but, having an amazing lack of tact, she starts up about the spoon again.

"And now Bob will have to go to cutlery A&E, because you _hurt _him. He's probably broken a bone."

"You're being ridiculous!" I protest, leaning against the table. "It's a chunk of metal. Metal doesn't have bones to break!"

"Spoon abuser!" she points at me accusingly. "The spoon is a person!"

"Good God, Lorelai!" I snap at her. "Can you please be sensible, for once? It. Is. A. Spoon."

"I am sensible!" she looks hurt. "Just not all the time, like you always are! You're so boring sometimes!"

That rubs the wrong way. "Just because I think before I do things, doesn't mean I'm boring!" I retort. "You, on the other hand, don't think before you do anything, and that's probably why you get in your Aunt's bad books so much! I really wonder how your parents coped with you!"

"Don't!" she yells back, leaping to her feet. "Just because you don't have a life, doesn't mean you need to pick mine apart!"

That hurts – hits me hard. "Goodnight." I snap. "I won't see you at school tomorrow."

"Fine," she tosses her hair. "See if I care!" With that she storms out of the kitchen and runs up the stairs. Scowling, I shove open her door, and walk out, slamming it hard behind me.

**Lorelai's POV**

_Oh, shit, what have I done?_ I sink down onto my bed, my hands shaking. This is the first time we've ever argued – the first time we've even had a disagreement…and he just walked out on me! I can't believe him…I go and throw open the casement, sticking my head out into the cold night air.

It goes a long way to clearing my head. I was a bit of an idiot, I guess, pressing on with the whole 'Bob the spoon' thing…but I was in a hyper mood and he knows not to take me seriously when I'm in a hyper mood. Well, that hyper, happy mood has deflated like a tyre with a puncture.

When Aunty May gets home, I put on a smile and help her with dinner – but I escape up to my room the minute we've finished – to pace around restlessly. _What if he doesn't like me anymore? _I think to myself. _What if I won't see him again? Have I just ruined…'us'…before we've even kissed?_

I refuse to let myself think anymore. I go into the bathroom and dress in my pyjamas, cleaning my teeth and taking my make-up off with shaking hands. I go and hide under my covers, but I don't sleep for a long while – a small hole slowly tearing into me.

* * *

Thud. Thud. _What the hell was that? _I sit straight upright, my breath misting in the cold air. Thud. Thud. It's coming from outside – outside my window. Just as this crosses my mind, I watch a stone fly up and hit on the glass of my window, falling away as soundlessly as it arrived. Someone's trying to get my attention. I slide out my bed, wrapping my mint-green comfort blanket around my shoulders, sliding on a pair of grey fluffy boot slippers before padding quietly over to the window. A figure stands there, in the falling snow, his hand full of stones, one at a time moving slowly out of his hand and up to my window. Trace. I am tempted to open the window; call out to him – but I can't. I can't wake Aunty May.

I walk silently down the stairs, pulling my blanket closer around my bare shoulders, and quietly unlocking the door with my key, padding out onto the porch and locking the door behind me. I walk around the side of the house to where he's standing silently, looking up at my window. For a second, I swear that I see tear tracks on his face gleam in the dull moonlight, but I blink and they're gone again.

"Trace," I whisper. "Stop that. You'll wake Aunty May."

He whips around, his face breaking into a huge smile at the sight of me. "Lorelai!" he whispers. He's crossed the ground between us in three huge strides, until he's standing in front of me. My heart's racing so fast, I'm losing myself in his deep brown eyes, but I don't reach out to touch him. Instead, he tentatively cups one hand around my face.

Although my instincts are screaming at me to throw my arms around him, to lean up and kiss him for the first time, I don't. I clamp down on my emotions; just stand and stare at him.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I had no right to say any of that."

I still don't say anything.

"Please, Lo, forgive me."

My tongue betrays me. "It was my fault too. I kept going on about stupid old Bob the spoon."

He looks serious, and all I want to do is kiss him until he smiles again, but I know there's something he wants to tell me. And tell me he does. "I shouldn't have brought your parents up. I'm sorry, I was out of order."

"I forgive you," I whisper, looking down at the ground. "I'll always forgive you." I look up through my lashes to see a smile spread across his face as he takes his hand away from my face, sliding his arms around my waist.

"God, you're freezing, baby," he says, pulling me closer.

"I didn't really notice," I say as he holds me tightly.

"Crazy girl," I can hear the smile in his voice. I look up at him, the snow falling around him and the shadows from the street light on the corner playing on his face. He's so beautiful – and he's mine…forever.

"You know, I think this has been long overdue," he says softly, looking straight down into my eyes. I hold my breath, my muscles tightening.

"What?" I whisper.

"This," he says, leaning down to me and kissing me gently on the lips. I tighten my hold around his neck, pulling him closer, and going right up on my tiptoes to reach him. Finally, he gives up, picking me up and spinning me around as the snow falls around us. I give a whoop of joy, and he laughs; kisses me again. You know, I don't think a first kiss has ever been that romantic.


	7. No

**You're all going to hate me for this...but I have to...SORRY! and I'm so sorry for not updating sooner. :) I'm awful, I know. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Three Months Later - Lorelai**

"I'm trusting you on this one," Karla leans in through the window of the car, giving me a stern look. "No hanky-panky."

"Why would we ever do hanky-panky?" I ask innocently, fluttering my eyelashes.

"I'm keeping tabs on you, Lorelai," she warns – then her face cracks into a smile. "Have fun, my darling."

"I will," I grin, swiping my hair out of my face, then wiping my hands on my bright blue jeans, before grasping the steering wheel and slowly making my way down the icy hillside from the Benedicts' house.

I guess I should update you as to what's been going on in my life since September. Trace and I are still going strong – no worries about that. I'm still as crazy as ever – again, you need not fear, young chipmunks, Lorelai will stay and remain mental. Aunty May has finally accepted that Trace and I are seeing each other – even though she huffs and snorts whenever he drops me off…and finally, Karla caught us making out before he went away to Denver…so that's what's happening with the whole 'no hanky-panky' thing.

As to what I'm doing now – well, Trace is doing work experience with the Denver Police Force, and I've been missing him like crazy. So, as we have a long weekend, I'm driving myself (yes, I can drive, thank-you-very-much-you-insolent-little-rabbit) up to see him, and I'll stay in the hotel he's been staying in.

I turn on my Train CD as I pull out onto the I-70 towards Denver, singing along to the lyrics as loud as I possibly can, thinking happy thoughts, and grinning like a maniac. So maybe that's why I don't see the pedestrians as I turn into the Denver exit…suddenly they're there, right in front of me…I try to brake, but my foot slips…my heart is thumping as the car starts to skid across the road, the tyres squealing. I can't get it back in control! I can't control it! I'm so scared…God help me, please help me! I'm too young to die!

Explosion. Shattering glass. Blackout.

**Trace**

Sergeant Hamilton rushes into the office, his radio crackling. "There's been a crash on the I-70, Denver exit. We need as many people as we have there to seal off the road." He looks around – seeing only me, and two others who are busy working.

"Officer Foster and Owens, you get in the slow car. Trace and I will take the fast car," he instructs. I get to my feet, grabbing my jacket and the police badge I've been loaned as I follow Sergeant Hamilton towards the car park, sliding quickly into the passenger seat of the fast car as he guns the engine. He switches on the siren and the lights as we weave quickly through the busy streets, pedestrians jumping out of the way.

"Take charge of the radio," he orders tersely – I grab it, listen to the messages. There's not much coming through, except there's been a big pile up because one car swerved out of the way to avoid pedestrians.

It takes us ten minutes tops to get there – the crash area is already sealed up with police tape, and the fire brigade is there, along with two ambulances.

"Go and see what's happening," Sergeant Hamilton instructs. I get out of the car and jog over to where four fire-fighters are busy cutting someone out of the wreckage of a car that's gone down the embankment. I slowly approach them, being careful of the debris scattered around.

As I approach…a chill runs down my spine…that car looks familiar – an old, bright blue Beemer, now damaged beyond repair. I hear one of the fire-fighters shout as they slowly extract the person from the wreckage. I catch a glimpse of blonde and pink hair…pale skin…blood dripping down her face…Oh God, no! No, no, no, this can't be happening.

I stumble my way towards them, where they hold the lifeless body of my soulfinder in their arms. No, this is some nightmare, some terrible mistake.

One of them looks over his shoulder, sees me. "What are you doing here, lad?" he sounds more confused than angry.

I swallow hard. "I…I'm on internship with the police…that's my girlfriend…" I watch as they carry her away up the hill, her lifeless hand flopping by her side.

"Girlfriend?" the fire-fighter says, putting a hand on my shoulder and taking in my pale face.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Come on," he says, starting to make his own way up the hill. "Go in the ambulance with her. I'll talk to your superior."

At those words, I start to run, my heart pounding, my ears ringing, still in shock. I reach the top of the hill to see her being loaded into the back of an ambulance. "Wait!" I call to the paramedics who are just closing the door.

They stop for a second as I approach. "I'm her boyfriend. Am I allowed to ride with her?" I ask shakily.

"Quickly," one of paramedics says, extending a hand. I pull myself in just as they slam the doors and the vehicle starts to move. My darling Lorelai is lying on a stretcher, the blood congealing on her face, and an oxygen mask strapped on. I take a step closer; the paramedic who let me in gestures to a chair that is strapped down to the floor next to her. I sit, take her cold hand in mine.

"What's going on?" I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on Lorelai's beloved face, trying to reassure myself that she's okay.

"We hope she'll be fine," the paramedic says after a long pause.

"Hope?" I look up at him, fear squeezing my stomach tight like a freezing rubber band.

"We're pretty sure she has three broken ribs…and a punctured lung, along with her broken wrist," he says quietly. "Not to mention the fact that she's suffered a head injury – we have no idea whether she'll have brain damage or not."

"Oh God," I say. "God, no."

When we arrive at the hospital, a team of doctors and nurses are already waiting. They wheel her off into the building, leaving me still sat in the chair in the ambulance.

"You can't stay here, son," the paramedic who talked to me says.

"Where should I go?" I ask.

He looks at me for a second, taking in the look in my eyes, the stiff set of my shoulders. "I'll see if there's a private waiting room. Will you want to phone her family?"

"I'd better, hadn't I?" I say listlessly, standing up and walking out of the ambulance. The paramedic takes me into reception, talks for a second to the pretty receptionist, then says,

"Aimee here will find you a waiting room," he says.

"Thank you," I say.

He claps me on the shoulder. "I really hope your girl gets better." The sincerity in his voice is enough to make me blink back tears as he walks away, leaving me in the care of the dark-haired receptionist.

"Was she in the big accident?" she asks as she leads me through the crowded public waiting room.

"Yes," I say, angrily wiping away the tears.

"I'm sorry," she opens the door to a room. I walk in, pacing to the window as she pauses by the door. "Is there anyone I need to send here?"

"Yes," I say. "May Hoffman, when she arrives, and anyone with the surname Benedict."

"Of course," she says. "There's a coffee machine if you want it, and food is available from the café."

"Thank you."

She takes the hint, and leaves me to my thoughts.

I sit down heavily in one of the chairs, staring at the phone in my lap. _Oh, god, Lorelai…_I think…

That's when I start to cry.


	8. Why?

**You're going to hate me even more...I'm so sorry xxx Just a short one now; there will be another up this weekend...I promise you that...:) Have fun and review! xxx (p.S. Take Me Home is amazing. Just putting that out there.)**

* * *

You could cut the silence with a knife.

I sit by her bed, my head in my hands, listening to the beep-beep of the heart monitor. I can hear Mrs Hoffman pacing up and down the room, occasionally pausing by the bed. My mother and father stand behind me – my siblings have gone off to get food.

She spent three hours in the operating theatre; the doctors say she's stable. Which is good thing, right? I guess it is…but I won't believe them until she's awake, and I can hold her and tell her that I love her.

The door swings open, and my brothers come back in, silent and scared – so unlike they are normally, it makes me want to laugh. But I don't – this is not the time and place for laughing.

We are like statues; frozen, still. Waiting.

A sharp intake of breath. She opens her eyes.

In an instant, I am standing up, hovering over her, a beam spreading across my face. She's awake, awake after two days of waiting. Her green eyes are unfocused – she blinks, croaks, "Where am I?"

"In a hospital, my darling," I say, taking her hand.

She narrows her eyes at me, her expression wary and confused at the same time. "Who are you?"

"Lorelai, it's me. Trace. Your boyfriend," pain twists in my heart.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she protests weakly. "I'm only fourteen – how could I?"

The door bangs open at this; I take a step back, feeling like someone has shot me as a doctor and his retinue of nurses sweeps in. He smiles at her, sits on the edge of her bed. "Good to see you are awake," he says.

"Thank you," she says as one of the nurses help her to drink a little bit of water.

"I need to ask you some questions."

"Why?" she shakes her head. "I don't have brain damage."

"Just bear with me, please," the doctor shines a light in her eyes; she blinks. I watch all of this, numb inside. How could she not recognise me? How is that possible? "What's your name?"

"Lorelai Madeline Wilson," she answers.

"Good," the doctor says. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yes," she says. "He told me," she waves a hand in my direction; my heart clenches painfully. "I'm in a hospital. In London, I presume, since I live there."

"Good," the doctor's calm façade has cracked a little.

"What year is it?"

"Oh, that's easy. 2002." She says confidently.

"Thank you very much Lorelai," I have to give the doctor some credit for staying collected. "Lara here is going to give you some pain medicine; it will make you feel drowsy."

"Okay," she says, closing her eyes. "I'm tired anyway."

The doctor turns to us, a worried glint in his eyes. "You heard the patient. I would like to speak with Mrs Hoffman and Mr Benedict outside – would the rest of you go back to the waiting room?"

He nods towards me and Mrs Hoffman; we follow him out of the room and down the corridor to the right, leaving the rest of family to go off. He leads us into an office, takes the chair behind the desk and gestures for us to sit down, taking in Mrs Hoffman's shocked expression, and my blank one. "I'm ever so sorry about this," he spreads his hands, pulling a file of notes towards him.

"How…how did it happen?" Mrs Hoffman asks. Her hands are visibly shaking, clenched around her handbag.

"When the car went down the embankment, Ms Wilson suffered a head injury. We had no way to tell if she had brain damage until she woke up."

"Will she recover?"

The doctor sighs. "I honestly have no idea, Mrs Hoffman. Amnesia is a tricky beast – sometimes the patient recovers their memories within a few weeks, sometimes they never get them back."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "You mean she may not ever get better?" I ask, my voice as tight and controlled as I can make it.

"I have no idea. I am so sorry."

"Damn you," I stand up, shoving my chair in so hard that it falls over.

"Trace," Mrs Hoffman says, a warning note in her voice.

"I f***ing love her, and you're saying she may never remember me? I glare at the doctor.

"I don't know," the doctor says nervously.

"You have to know! It's your job to know! And don't hide anything from us for our own sake!" I snap.

He sighs again. "She suffered severe trauma…I doubt she'll recover her memories," he says after a long pause. I swear foully and stride out of the room, slamming the door behind me as hard as I can. I walk down the corridors, my anger cooling down into utter wretchedness and grief. We were so happy. Why? Why? Why did this have to happen?

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**A/N I'm so sorry guys xx**


	9. Finally

**A/N Heya, me again. I like this chapter...also, when the youtube link comes up, open a new tab, copy and paste it into the search bar, and enjoy the music! :) Enjoy this!**

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Confusion. It infests my mind like some kind of sickness. I sit on the bed with the white covers, staring around me. They say I had an accident. That I've lost my memories of the last three years. But how can that work?

Then, there's that boy. What's his name, again? Oh, right. Trace Benedict. He claims that we've been dating for the past three months. He says that he loves me, and he won't let me slip away from him. But how can he love me…when I don't even know who he is?

He visits me every day, bringing me little presents – like a new CD, or a bunch of flowers, or a box of chocolates. He's trying to get me to remember – that scares me so much. I'm not sure if I even want to remember.

I stand up, take the pretty heart-shaped bottle from the chest of drawers, spray a bit and sniff it. It smells nice – the bottle says. 'Princess' then 'Vera Wang.' Who's Vera Wang – where's my nice perfume from home, that Impulse stuff that Mum would always buy me.

They told me that my parents died. That they were caught in a bomb. But they're too smart for that to happen. They're probably just away for a bit, and I've been left with my Aunty.

"Lorelai, you have a visitor!" Aunty calls up the stairs. I sigh – it's probably _him _again. I slowly walk down the stairs my blonde and pink (I have no idea why I dyed the ends of my hair pink) hair in a thick plait, and head into the kitchen. He's standing by the sink, a mug of something on the counter beside him. "I'll leave you two alone, then," Aunty says.

"D…don't…" I say, so quietly.

"What was that, Lorelai?" she asks, scooping up her keys.

"Nothing," I say quickly. Too quickly.

"Good," she says. "I'm going to be out for dinner – Lorelai, you can cook for yourself and Trace, right?"

"Yes, Aunty May," I say.

"Good girl. I'll see you this evening, then."

I hear the front door slam, and keeping my muscles tense, turn towards Trace. His brown eyes follow my every movement, his gaze locked on my face. "How are you?" he asks.

"Good," I say, trying to be as impersonal as possible. "You?"

He shrugs. "Not so good. But it'll get better." I can see the pain in his eyes, in the dark circles underneath them. Even though I don't know him…I don't want to hurt him… "I brought something to show you," he says, taking a pretty, bright green photo album thing out of a pocket of his jacket, passing it to me. "Mom helped me pick it out – she said you'd like a crazy one."

I don't reply – instead, I sit down in one of the chairs, opening the photo album and laying it on the table. Trace comes to stand behind me, pointing at the first photo. "That's you on my bike at school," he says quietly. I stare at the girl in the picture – her pink and blonde hair is all messed up, and she's sitting on a black motorbike, wearing a leather jacket that's too big for her, and grinning a crazy grin at the camera. It's so obviously me…but why don't I remember it? Damn it, why?

I turn the page to see one of me and a pretty girl with coppery, wavy hair and tanned skin, and a very white smile. We've got our arms slung around each other's necks, and are doing a 'peace-and-pout' pose. She looks like she's trying hard not to giggle, where as I seem to be deadly serious. "Who's that?" I ask.

"Your best friend, Dakota Thompson," Trace perches on the edge of my chair. "She's in Connecticut at the moment, visiting family, but I assure you that she'll be here as soon as she hears what's happened."

"She's pretty," I say absentmindedly.

"_You're _pretty," he says, gazing at the photo.

Embarrassed, I turn the page, revealing a photo of me, Trace and a another girl and guy – both of them blonde. The girl is kissing the guy's cheek, and I'm lounging in Trace's arms, bridal style, with my fist in the air. "That's Haylee and Brett. They're a couple – totally loved up and not afraid to share it with the rest of us. It's gross."

As I turn the rest of the pages, Trace tells me who the people are – the supposed, 'people in my life.' But, you know, aren't they meant to be here, visiting me? I muse as I turn to the second last page, revealing a picture of me with a tall man and a short woman, with six boys of varying ages standing all around me. Trace is nowhere to be seen, so I'm assuming that he's taking the picture.

"This is my family," he says. "My Mom, Karla, and my Dad, Saul. Mom thinks that you are the best thing since sliced bread – she's always wanted a daughter…" he trails off.

"These are all your siblings, right?" I ask. I'm guessing they are, because they all look vaguely like Trace.

"Yep," he says. "Uriel, Victor, Will, Xavier, Yves and Zed. They all love you to pieces."

"That's nice," I say, turning the last page with trembling hands. The photo that's last is one of me and Trace – staring into each other's eyes like there's no one else in the world. From that picture, it's so obvious how in love we were…

I look up at him; he's staring down at the picture. Blinking back tears. "This is proof that you're all right," I say slowly. "But…my mind is telling me otherwise."

"I'll give you all the time in the world," he says slowly. Distinctly. "I love you, Lorelai, and I…"

Guilt spears me through the heart – I stand up. "Don't. Just don't." Then I run.

**Trace**

"How did it go?" Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, supervising the holiday-homework-and-Christmas-card-writing.

"She doesn't believe me," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. My brothers tactfully ignore me as I sit down heavily next to my mother. "She said…"

"Boys, go to your rooms," Mom says suddenly. They all leave without speaking. "What did she say, my darling?" she wraps her arms around me, pulling my head down to rest on her shoulder. I feel about five years old when I say,

"She ran out on me…she looked at all the pictures, then ran out."

"My darling, you can't force her to listen…"

"I know, I know…but it's so infuriating. I love her so much, and she's not even giving me a chance!" I say, brokenly. "She's my soulfinder, Mom, and it was going so well, then this…and it's my fault too. If I hadn't been working in Denver, if I hadn't invited her to stay because I was missing her, then maybe I would still have her…"

"Trace, it is not your fault, understand me?" Mom says fiercely. "It was a complete accident – it could have been anyone! It is not your fault, nor Lorelai's fault…"

"Maybe some higher power was angry with us that day," I get up. "Thanks, Mom. I'm going to my room."

She squeezes my hand, and smiles sadly. "You will get through to her, my darling, if it takes a week, or fifty, I know you'll get through to her."

The days crawl by, slowly and agonisingly. Every day, I want to go back to Lorelai's, to try and convince her that I'm right, but every day, Mom tells me to give her a little more time. Time is of the essence, and it's ticking away.

One morning, I drag myself out of bed, and head downstairs to find Mom singing away happily. "Today is the day," she smiles.

"Really?" I ask, levitating a piece of toast towards me.

"Yes," she says cheerily. "Get on your jacket, and go buy her some chocolates from the shop. I have a little bird telling me that you might need them."

Thank God for my mother and her future sense. I grab another piece of toast, sling my jacket over my shoulder, and kiss her on the cheek, sliding into my boots and heading out into the snowy drive. I open the door to Dad's truck, and slide in, putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine. As I drive down towards the main road, I hear a voice in my head whisper, _Good luck._

_Thanks, Will_ I send back, hearing a telepathic laugh as I drive into town.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing outside the house. Mrs. Hoffman lets me in just as she's about to leave – she always leaves when I arrive, which I think is very kind of her.

I slide off my boots and jacket, take the chocolates (Cadbury Milk Tray – English chocolate that I know she likes) and head towards the living room, where I can hear music playing. Because of You, Kelly Clarkson.

I silently approach the doorway, leaning against it to see Lorelai standing in the middle of the room, bare-footed, dancing across the carpet, her body twisting and bending, moving perfectly to the music, dancing just like she used to. It tears into my heart as I watch her, spinning gracefully, her hair curled into a knot at the nape of her neck. She looks so beautiful and vulnerable as she dances.

I watch as she finishes, head bowed, neck arched. The song changes to another of her slower ones – Begin Again by Colbie Caillat. watch?v=2sR-YTzwgIo

She turns around, her jaw dropping as she sees me. "W…what are you doing?" a blush spreads up her face.

"Watching you dance." I swallow, dropping my gaze. "You used to dance all the time."

"Did I?" she muses, her face crinkling up. "I suppose I did. I love dancing, see."

"I know," I say. "I'll go and put the kettle on."

**Lorelai**

The minute he goes, I sink onto the floor, hugging my legs to my chest, tears starting to dribble from the corners of my eyes. The look in his eyes when I saw him watching me…it was so full of love, and tenderness…_He really does love me_ I think to myself, burying my face in hands. _He really does love me. _I cry harder, my heart tearing. Do I really have the right to do this to him? To leave him all alone? I don't think I can be that cruel.

"Lo?" his voice. I look up, seeing him standing there, holding two mugs of tea. He puts them down at once, kneels on the floor beside me, puts his arms around me before I can protest, hugging me close. That makes me cry harder. "What's wrong, baby?"

"I can't…I…just…"

He wipes the tears from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb, holding my face in his hands so I have to look straight into his eyes. "You're making no sense. Just take deep breaths, and tell me when you're ready."

It takes me a few minutes to calm down properly…after a while I say, "I'm sorry for being so horrible and not listening."

"It's not your fault," he says.

"It is…I know you love me," I say. "I saw the way you were looking at me…and I just thought – I can't hurt him. I can't hurt you."

His face breaks into an incredulous smile. "You're giving us a chance?"

"I guess I am," I sniffle.

"Oh baby," he hugs me tight to him for a second. "I think you need some chocolate," he says, his eyes glinting.

"Yes, I think I do," I admit shakily.

"Lucky that we have my mother and her future sense," I say.

"Lucky." She echoes.


End file.
